ANCIENT GREECE. YEAR: 102 B.B.C.

Buildings stood tall, seeming to close in on the young god. He kept his gaze low, frame trembling. His pale blue eyes, once confident, were now fearful. His captors dragged him by the ropes, and right then he knew - he was going to be the first victim of this war that loomed over them, about to break the world apart once he died.

Once on a platform, he was forced onto his knees. He watched the crowd of humans, knowing well that, once, they worshipped him as the God of Perfection. Now, lies corrupted their minds, turning them against him. He was perpetually helpless against the mortals' wraths, as he was the weakest link.

His bliond hair covered part of his gaze. The ropes dug into his wrist, painful. As the executioner jeered at him, he felt a pang of hopelessness. He was a victim of deceit, and humans were so, so gullible.

He growled.

Glisten's heart beat loudly in his chest.

He was perpetually mortal as of the moment.

And that weakness?

That weakness was terrifying.

As the sword was raised to impale his heart, the blade fell. The executioner fell in a puddle of blood. Glisten's eyes widened, raising his head to see {{user}}, a fellow god, amongst the crowd, arms still extended from tossing a blade into the killer's head.